


Tis The Oak's Job To Remain Steadfast

by TheOriginalSilvertongue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AO3 FB Challenge, Asgard, Asgard (Marvel), Battle, Gen, Headcanon, Historical, Holmgang, Pre-Thor (2011), loki is a warrior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 08:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18069917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOriginalSilvertongue/pseuds/TheOriginalSilvertongue
Summary: A younger Prince Loki leads troops into battle for the glory of Asgard. Set approximately 500 years before the events of the first Thor film.





	Tis The Oak's Job To Remain Steadfast

**_~ Approximately 500 years ago_ **

“There is nothing the oak needs from a weeping willow or the delicate flowering dogwood, save perhaps the fertilizer of their fallen trunks. It is not the oak’s job to bend in the wind; tis the oak’s job to remain steadfast.” Loki finished adjusting his armor and swung back up into the saddle of Svaðilfari, his coal-black war steed. Loki had taken damage in the last skirmish, but nothing critical. Battle was always referred to as ‘glorious’ in Asgardian lore, but the realities of it were very different: muck, guts, fear, and confusion. All of which threatened even the best laid plans. Armies needed someone to lead them.

Asgard’s King and thus Commander-in-Chief was still Odin, but he rarely took to the field anymore, preferring to leave that duty to his commanders: the Princes of Asgard. Thor, his firstborn and heir, stood as Field Marshal. His counterpart and brother, Loki, bore the title of Commander General. It was a carefully arranged delegation of duties between the two princes, but when battle required it, they fought seamlessly as one unit, as both commanders and as individual fighters. Loki and Thor were no ‘meadhall warriors’ as were those who bragged of combat experience but in truth had seen very little of the front lines, if any at all. 

Cowardice, also known as _ergi_ or unmanliness, was one of the basest insults that could be flung at another man in Asgard or in Norse society. It was one of three words which allowed a man to kill in retaliation for their utterance, should they be proved false. Any of them almost invariably resulted in a duel or _holmgang_. When he began his study of seiðr with Frigga, it didn’t take long for Loki to hear of the insult applied to him. Seiðr was traditionally a woman’s art, despite the fact that the Allfather was also known for his powerful magic. It was a double standard Loki never quite understood. He was naturally gifted with magic; it seemed foolish to neglect that in favor of hitting things with other things. It wasn’t like Asgard wasn’t built on magic.

Loki still remembered the man’s name: Sinfjotli. And Loki still remembered the insult, uttered half-drunk at a feast at which Loki had been present, but not within earshot. He’d called Loki a ‘witch’ and claimed it could be proven because Loki was pregnant with nine wolf cubs and that he, Sinfjotli, was the father. There was laughter at the table from some and horrified looks from others. Eventually the tale got back to the palace, as they always did.

Loki was incensed and determined to challenge the man to prove the allegation a lie. It stung him far more deeply than it should have due to his own insecurities. Frigga had tried to talk Loki out of responding to the taunt. A prince of Asgard could not be outlawed or declared _niðingr_ based on the scolding of a commoner. There were other means of restitution – a public apology, a weregild, banishment. Loki insisted these only proved him a coward, afraid to fight to clear his name. Loki had been only sixteen at the time. He had his full height already, but hadn’t filled out that frame yet. Like many teens in any realm, he was gangly, almost delicate looking, especially compared to his heartier brother, who already bulged with muscle. Loki had a certain exotic beauty to him, with sharp features, emerald eyes, obsidian curls, and a complexion pale as milk. Amongst the golden Æsir, he stood out in more ways than one.

Sixteen had been old enough to kill his accuser in fair combat as Frigga fretted on the sidelines. Thor had cheered his brother loudly, along with their friends Fandral, Sif, and their mentor at the time, Volstagg. It wouldn’t be until many years later that they met Hogun and the Warriors Three were formed. Sif had just barely begun her training as a warrior, but Loki had studied from the moment he could hold so much as a stick. Even Odin had made an appearance at his youngest son’s challenge, though whether to see him prevail or perish, none could tell from his implacable expression. Afterwards, as Loki stood with his spear still embedded in Sinfjotli’s chest, there had been nothing more personal from his father than a nod, but Loki had clung to and ruminated for weeks over Odin’s announcement to the gathered crowd. 

“As you have all witnessed, Loki Odinson, Prince of Asgard, has bested Sinfjotli Knutson in the holmgang. No magic was used by either party. This matter is settled, as both the law and custom dictate.” Odin took a breath, held it as if he might not be finished, then banged Gungnir once against the stone floor of the balcony overlooking the training grounds in which the fight occurred. It was over, but it was more approval than Loki regularly got from Odin, and it felt like a gift. Loki yanked the spear from the loser’s corpse without so much as a glance and handed it off to a squire before Thor and the others descended upon him with hugs and hearty back slaps of congratulation. Still, Loki couldn’t help but watch his father depart, wishing for something more.

  
No one thought of Loki as a coward now, not as he cantered along the line of Asgardian soldiers ready to defend their position against daunting odds.

“Asgard is that oak! You are each a root, a branch, a leaf of that mighty tree! If we must water the oak with the blood of our enemies, so be it!” he called to his troops. There was a cheer in response. It was rhetoric, of course. They knew they were vastly outnumbered. Morale needed a boost, and it was a tradition, even though they weren’t exactly preparing to lead a charge.

But Loki’s plan was solid. He knew the terrain, knew that their oncoming foes would be bottle-necked in the narrow path descending from higher ground. If they wanted their army to retreat, they would have to come down. While it would be unwise for Loki and his men to rush and try to capture that higher ground from this position and with their current resources, they could certainly hide in the cover the boulder-strewn glacial till near its base provided. 

Concealed to their enemy’s left flank around the bluff, Loki mustered his troops. He always had the smallest, fastest units. While Thor might command entire divisions, Sif and the others thousands, Loki always chose something more like a battalion or smaller, depending on the engagement. Today, Loki had just a single company with him, numbering 150 Asgardian soldiers. It fit well with his fighting style and allowed his men to move with ease into other units if needed. There was no point in tying up more troops when a hundred would do. In their younger days, just Thor, Loki, Sif, and the Warriors Three had made up their own squad on many adventures. Half a dozen Asgardians was a formidable force for most to encounter.

This was taking a bit longer than Loki would have liked. Thor was busy elsewhere on the field. The Warriors Three and Sif all had commands of their own now as well. Each of them had a part to play in ending this battle decisively. It was Loki’s job to ensure their foe did not escape, and it was one that he particularly relished. 

This was the abattoir into which they would all eventually rendezvous once enemy supplies were cut off, once reinforcements were routed, once their morale was broken, their lines panicked and hemorrhaging, and their communications scrambled.

Loki’s instructions to his men were quite clear. Keep it simple and let the officers worry about the complexities, that was what they’d been taught.

“We will break position in small bands, five men at a time. Stay low, be quick. Find cover at the base of the butte facing the path and await my signal.” He pulled Svaðilfari to a halt at the middle of the line, facing his men. The enormous coal-colored stallion snorted and stamped his feet. Calmly, Loki held up a hand. His methods did not always appeal to the more zealous of the soldiers, and Loki knew it. Patience was not a virtue adrenaline granted. Svað felt it too.

“You will have your blood and glory. In time. Wait until my signal, then show no mercy if our enemies haven’t the sense to surrender!” Wholesale slaughter was not Asgard’s policy if a treaty could be forged. Usually when an enemy was surrounded and facing certain death, it could be.

Loki nudged Svaðilfari, who jumped back into a proud prance. “Whatever you do, hold the line! Be the oak. The oak does not yield. Asgard does not yield!”

When he reached the end of the line, Loki pointed to the first group of men.

“Go.” He pointed to the next group. “Two minute intervals, then go.” By Loki’s calculations, they’d all be in place by the time Thor made his grand entrance. And Thor _always_ made a grand entrance.

**Author's Note:**

> Accompanying artwork:
> 
>   
>    
> 
> 
> Feedback/comments/concrit welcome!


End file.
